The 'Other' Woman
by jack63kids
Summary: New case and romance involving Dr John Watson. Set sometime after the Reichenbach Falls and after Sherlock has returned from the dead. Some action and at least one loud bang!
1. Chapter 1: They Meet

_**I've rather fallen for the lovely DrW, which is odd as I don't find Martin Freeman at all attractive - plus I'm not into actors who are spoken for.**_

_**I do think the character is wonderful however and wanted a little love interest for him, sometime in the future when Sherlock is back and on form again - insulting and making people uncomfortable - somehow it wouldn't be the same without that. I didn't want it to be just a romance, so there's some action in there and a loud bang. **_

_**I haven't yet decided whether to kill her off nastily or let them get married as yet, nor whether she's exactly what she seems and how exactly she knows Moriarty!? ...**_

_**I'd like to dedicate the first chapter to AlessNox who talked me out of using Xs for her name. She's still anonymous, but not censored ...**_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: <strong>**_They Meet_**

"Dr Watson?"

John was virtually on the doorstep of no 221B after an early morning stroll, when he heard the voice and felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see a girl, barely a young woman, looking up at him. She was pretty in an elfin way and dressed quirkily though not so much so that her femininity was in question.

"Yes, how can I help?" he asked, though he was sure that it was Sherlock's help that was needed and not his - he wasn't to be disappointed. Something in her eyes showed that she was though, a slight flinch when he spoke but it was gone in a flicker and he wondered whether he'd been mistaken.

"I've been reading your blogs and know that he," she jerked her head up to the window above them, "doesn't like to take on cases that don't intrigue him ... I wondered if I could run it by you first?" she looked at him expectantly, her hand still resting on his arm, and John was aware that his heart rate was rather high for a fit man who'd taken nothing more than a stroll and had been standing still for some moments now.

"I've some time to spare this morning - would you like to come up?" he asked brightly. And that slight flinch again, something about his voice or tone jarred maybe.

"Kinda defeats the object doncha think? With Mr Holmes in his lair?" she was smiling broadly now, obviously the thought of Sherlock was more pleasant than time with him, though necessary to prepare the ground apparently.

"Right, of course, then would you allow an old man to buy you a cuppa in the caff over there then?" She muttered something under her breath that sounded like '_sexy old man_', but he wasn't sure - more likely to be 'sexist' and just wishful thinking on his part. He wondered exactly what it was about him that was making her so uncomfortable as she followed him over.

Over two steaming mugs of tea he listened as she told of mysterious packages that had been delivered to her over the past few months each containing large sums of paper money, hand delivered at times when she had been present but noticed nothing, no message enclosed, no idea who they were from nor how they had arrived. The amounts varied from several hundred to several thousand pounds and seemed to be on the increase, though dipped slightly after a month where she'd been travelling for a couple of weeks. The police told her there was no crime involved in giving money for nothing, even if anonymously, and advised her to keep it and spend it as she wished.

He'd asked about whether she might have a secret beneficiary or admirer who could be making these donations and she said she seriously doubted it and that her parents had died several years ago, so could not be from them. She had no rich relations as far as she knew.

"Not unless I have my own personal Magwitch - though I've never knowingly saved anyone's life, so find that one hard to believe too."

It was warm in the cafe, good to get out of the summer shower that had driven him in a little earlier than intended, and she'd slipped off her jacket at some point when telling the tale. It was impossible to tell whether she was expensively dressed or was an expert at charity shopping - he wondered the extent of her inheritance but didn't ask as he was too busy studying her. Every article of clothing that he could see was individual in style and they all worked together in a very pleasing way. A small curl of dark hair had escaped the band she wore and he found his mind wandering a little and whether the age gap really was as prohibitive as he first thought. She obviously found him unattractive though and it was more of a personal tease to be fantasising about her - it had been a long while since he'd gone out with anyone and a fantasy seemed all he'd get at the moment. And then he was aware of her smiling at him and he wondered again.

"Away with the fairies, Doc?" she was grinning impishly and his fantasy of kissing her almost became a reality until the headline of '_Famous Sleuth's Sidekick Arrested for Child Abuse_' came into his head.

"Yeah, sorry, you were telling me about the packaging" he coaxed.

She seemed quite flustered and, unlike earlier, unsure what she was saying. "Different every time, as I say - I've had anything, or do I mean everything - well I guess not quite, I have the feeling they can still be inventive yet - from something that looked like several barristers' bundles - ribbons the lot, money rolled inside - to a birthday present, with girly paper, though girly pink doesn't really do it for me and it was nowhere near my birthday ... December 11th", she said grinning. "In case you want to start planning now"... neither spoke for a moment, John looking quizzically at her, and then she shook her hair slightly and started talking again.

"There's something about them that I find menacing, regardless of the party paper and I really just want it to stop. One arrived sometime between when I rushed home to shower and change and when I left to go out - I was home, then out again, in less than twenty minutes - so they must have been watching my movements. Gives me the creeps that I was in the shower when it arrived too." She looked genuinely anxious at that point but the impulse to put his arm around her to comfort was only partially paternal. "I get the impression I'm being paid off for something or bribed and that someone will want to call a favour at any moment, if I spend any of it or seem to be accepting them. I've got the lot, with the wrappings all in my bag here - not spent a penny of the money." She handed the small backpack over the table to him, touching his hand while she spoke earnestly, "Whatever Mr Holmes says, I don't want it back - spend it, give it charity, I don't care."

"Anyway, as I'd started reading your blogs not long before they started being delivered, the two things are rather associated in my mind and I've thought about contacting Mr Holmes to see if he could help. Seems too trivial for him though, but it's one of those thoughts that festered and now became irresistible, though I still think it would go beneath Mr Holmes RADA - what do you think?"

John found that he minded her thinking an interview with Sherlock irresistible. He tried to keep a cool head though and attempted to employ Sherlock's own criteria for deciding on a case, but found that he simply couldn't. It seemed to him be a mundane case of someone taking a liking to the young woman, indeed she was very likeable ... and attractive, and wanting to do something nice for her. Yet that would mean they wouldn't likely meet again ...

"Why don't I just run it by him and if he's interested then I'll let you know and you can come talk to him. How does that sound?" and that wince again, just when he thought she was warming to him a little.


	2. Chapter 2: Sherlock Assesses

**Chapter 2:****_ Sherlock Assesses_**

John did run the case by Sherlock, but not until later that evening. He'd found that he didn't want to share her with his friend so quickly and was putting off the inevitable time when they would meet. Little did he know that it was just his delay, and his restlessness during that day, that decided Sherlock that he would meet the young woman and not so much anything that he'd heard of the case. John texted her, as they'd agreed, and suggested a time the following afternoon. Her reply came quickly, making his heart race again, though her response was businesslike and with no personal comments - "A little 'x' would have nice," he muttered to himself wistfully.

John was looking forward to meeting her downstairs before bringing her up - one last chance to have her to himself before Sherlock took over all her attention and admiration, that - or she was so insulted by Sherlock that they never saw her again. He'd bothered to comb his hair and put on a clean shirt, which made him feel more uncomfortable and he nearly changed back again at the last moment. It had been quite a while since Sherlock had chased his last girlfriend away and he couldn't now remember what she was called - Sherlock's doing he knew as he'd (quite possibly deliberately) constantly mixed up their names.

As it turned out Mrs Hudson showed her up as their bell seemed not to be working. A small elfin face appeared at the door. She looked older than before, wearing a smart, fitted jacket and without the alice band in her hair. She looked as if she'd dressed to be businesslike, though her expression was one of childlike bewilderment until she surveyed the room, seemed to see something there that pleased her - perhaps she'd thought Sherlock wouldn't show and she'd be stuck with him again - and came in more confidently than John would have thought possible of her a moment before.

He stepped towards her, ever the gentleman, ready with a hand out to guide her to a chair. Before he could speak, the withering look she gave him, made him retreat more quickly than he'd just advanced. Sherlock, who had looked bored before this encounter, suddenly looked attentive, his eyes darting between them, resting on the young woman. John could almost hear him saying 'the game is on!' There was something about the young woman that even attracted the usually stoney Sherlock.

"When John said 'girl', I was rather expecting pig-tails," he said.

She half glanced in John's direction and then stopped, but not before he had spotted her narrow her eyes and purse up her lips.

She stepped forwards and held her hand out to Sherlock - when he didn't immediately take it she stepped a regimented step backwards and, looking amused rather than offended, giving her name and saying stiffly, "I shan't bother with rank and number as I've no doubt you will enjoy telling me rather than being handed anything on a plate." She all but saluted.

Sherlock slit his eyes slightly, but didn't take his gaze off her.

"You're older than you look. University age - undergraduate - not a genius ..." (she was smiling still and if anything looked more amused) "... but smart enough - orphan, though John told me that, so hardly counts, middle class family, home countries, Buckinghamshire or Berkshire, farming family but you didn't carry on at the farm, parents died tragically and together - mysterious circumstances - you haven't got over their death. You dance, on pointe, but not professionally, probably practice yoga - Vinyasa I'd say judging by your level of fitness. University course will be something that takes in your arty side but with a good dose of science, maths, computing ... uses your brains, but has a practical element too ... something fairly main stream but with opportunity for non-conformism ... not accountancy ... building work, but not civil engineering more like art and design with a purpose ... architecture most likely."

"Bravo! Spot on, I'm just about to start my final year at London Metropolitan - spot on with that anyway and I do dance of course - hence the odd way of walking ... there was nothing mysterious about my parents' death - painful to me, but not mysterious - car crash."

John had been totting it up in his head - "That would make you 21 this December?" he couldn't help asking. Not as bad as he'd feared, but still a huge age gap. He'd completely ignored what she'd said about her parents while calculating her age and swallowed uncomfortably as he realised his social faux pas. Her reply was slightly terce, but better than he'd expected given his lack of tact.

"Twenty-four," she said, something fascinating on the carpet prevented her from looking in his direction. "It's a 4 year course, not three, and I took two years out."

And suddenly twenty four seemed like the perfect age.

The rest of the interview was a rehash of what she had told him previously, but now slowed down, speeded up, abridged and extended by Sherlock's interruptions, comments and questions and odd looks that he gave periodically when nothing much of interested seemed to have been said.

Throughout the interview the young woman gave her full attention to Sherlock and seemed to forget John was there. It was a painful experience knowing that his friend's presence had wiped his own existence from her mind. He managed to contain his feelings as he always could in public and to take a back seat to allow his friend to work in the hope that she would at least find a solution to her problem.

Sherlock, however, came up with no easy answers nor even gave his own observations on the case at all. "Leave it with us, if any further packages arrive, or there are any other developments, then report them to Dr Watson." ... And that was that.

She seemed uncertain what to do at first, lost and smaller, like when he'd first encountered her outside their front door. Then she stood up, was about to raise her hand to shake hands goodbye, but thought better of it. And then the impish look came back to her face and she said "Well, maybe Dr Watson can see me to the door, or kiss me goodbye ... whatever I can get ... ah, though judging by his expression, I'm more likely to get _shown _the door - ah well, nothing ventured, nothing gained," and she was out and down the stairs before he could speak.

"Er, what on earth was that about?" John stammered as he could hear her retreating footsteps down the stairs. He'd found her tease painful. She'd obviously noticed his interest and decided to make fun of him and he'd found it rather hurtful given her obvious lack of interest in him.

Sherlock looked superior, but then, as he nearly always did, there was little change to notice. "And I thought that you were supposed to be the one who was good with people - obviously not when it comes to yourself then."

* * *

><p>That Friday evening, Sherlock texted to meet at a favourite restaurant in China Town. I was surprised to find that she had also been invited, in fact already seated with Sherlock, laughing at something that he had obviously just said. She looked a little more sober when I sat down and started with the opening gambit: "So, Dr Watson, Sherlock was just telling me about the time he had you drugged and locked in a basement laboratory with the recording of a dog!"<p>

_... and that was so funny, how exactly!? Things were a little uncomfortable for a while then and Sherlock actually moved the discussion on to how we solved the case showing me in a slightly better light - though him in a very much better one of course. They carried on as they obviously had been before my arrival, like old friends, or lovers now stuck with a gooseberry, but making the most of it by heartily ignoring him._

_Sherlock seemed to be enjoying discussing elements of his cases with her that even we hadn't gone into. I learnt more of his methods on even some of our more publicised cases that evening than I did at the time. _**Note to self: **I shall have to revisit at least three or four of my more detailed write-ups on cases and rehash what I've recorded previously.

_That was the evening he chose to explain his initial observations about her when she first came to our rooms. It was surprisingly flattering for someone being Sherlocked and she listened attentively with some amusement at the less flattering aspects._

_Geographical location was simply accent apparently, though she could have come from anywhere in the South East as far as I'd have known. Farming was deduced from the old and scuffed Young Farmer's sticker on her bag that I hadn't even noticed - I looked later and it said Bucks Young Farmer's if you looked more closely - so much for accent analysis, Sherlock! _

_The dancing and yoga was down to the way that she moved and when he asked her to demonstrate her flexibility she got up from the table, flexed her legs a few times, took hold of her right foot and put her leg up over her head with her leg perfectly straight, before sitting down again. Luckily she was wearing a pretty version of Chinese peasant trousers or she'd not have managed it. Sherlock made some remark about how I, as a doctor, must appreciate the anatomical observations that led him to that conclusion ..._

_That he knew she hadn't got over her parents' deaths was apparently due to her wearing her mother's engagement ring on her right hand, her choice of car (her father's old BMW), and her mobile phone. The mobile was pink and flowery, and she'd said that girly very definitely wasn't her thing; knowledge I'd passed onto Sherlock in a moment of I don't know what. It was an old phone, which she carried in an inside pocket instead of one of her many bags - near to her heart as Sherlock said. Most likely bought for her by one or both parents when she was in her teens or previously belonging to her mother. Kept for sentimental reasons and not out of necessity as she enjoyed modern technology and certainly wasn't short of cash. His reasoning that this was exhibited by the MacBook Pro that she had recently purchased, which replaced a very up to date MacBook Air. This he knew due to the receipt for the newer machine left in the previously mentioned bag, which was for a MacBook that she was no longer using - and her expensive clothing, minimal but choice jewellery and recent manicure, which he believed to be a regular occurrence._

_He didn't mention again how her parents had died, but then Sherlock doesn't like to admit when he's wrong._

_Her choice of MacBooks apparently decided him on her degree course, amongst a few other minor observations that went over my head, and I really didn't get the logic of this either. Basically that she exhibited more of a mathematical mind in many of her choices but sufficient arty tendencies from the way she dressed and held herself. _I'm not entirely sure about the depth of Sherlock's interest in her deportment, he seems to mention it rather a lot ...

_I'd suspected from when first Sherlock suggested meeting for a meal that there were ulterior motives and some spectacular case would emerge with dangerous consequences all round - he does nothing solely for social reasons. When the evening went as near to a normal evening out with friends - or rather a date with a gooseberry on the side - as it is possible for him, however, I became rather suspicious of his motives. There was obviously something about the young woman and I wasn't sure that it was solely her intellect and interest in his work that attracted him. _

_Sherlock gave his usual acerbic reflexions of other people's motives and transparency - showing off. She found this both entertaining and fascinating and asked questions that would not have occurred to me that showed she understood his reasoning better than I ever had. _

_She laughed a lot. More than she ever did when it was the two of us alone and I didn't think it was anything to do with the wine which Sherlock had ordered as I never saw her drink more than the odd sip at any point in the evening and her glass was never once topped up. I however, was in a less sober state by the end of the meal and remember her offering to prop me up to get me out the door, to avoid a public incident._

_She and Sherlock walked out in front of me, however, chatting excitedly about a new case as if I wasn't there. Any propping up was done by the odd door frame and table that I passed. I can't say that I was particularly proud of my conduct either then, nor the next headache-ridden morning when I bit Sherlock's head off with less than usual provocation._


	3. Chapter 3: It Progresses

Chapter 3: It Progresses

John didn't hear from the young woman for nearly two weeks after the meal with Sherlock and then early one morning received a short text saying meet me at our cafe, 5.15, XX The way she phrased it - 'our cafe' - made his heart leap, though he knew it was another tease - young people could be cruel, though whether intentionally or not in her case he could not say. The time until their meeting went slowly and he found he'd not been able to concentrate on writing up the latest successful case on his blog and did a lot of pacing which irritated Sherlock who was working on a complex cypher.

When they met everything went to a similar pattern. She was alternately business like and mocking for no apparent reason and then when he was trying to be sympathetic to her concern about receiving huge amounts of money for nothing in return she said -

"John!" her use of his name - she'd previously called him Dr Watson or Doc on the odd occasion she'd called him anything - and so abruptly it made him jump. She certainly got his attention. "Please refrain from talking to me like I'm a fourteen year old who might have a teenage breakdown at any moment. You're going to find it much more pleasant being forced to liaise with me if you pretend we're roughly on the same level here."

"Sorry, but I'm concerned ... that's my concerned voice ... for anyone ... not just potential teenage breakdowns" he smiled shyly, hoping to get at least a shadow of the radiance she'd reserved for talking to Sherlock. He hoped she didn't now think he meant that he *did* consider her to be a potential teenage breakdown ... oh shreuth! She gave what seemed to him to be a rueful smile. She did!

The latest package contained significantly more money than previously, a leap into the tens of thousands. John agreed this was worth reporting to Sherlock and invited her to come back to 221B before he'd thought of the painful implications. She hesitated long enough for him to realise that she didn't want to spend more time with him than she needed to, and was weighing this against time with Sherlock.

"I could always wait outside if you want to consult him on your own" he said.

"Now - why - would - I - want - you - to - do - that - do - you - think?" she asked slowly and stressing every word, though he couldn't think what she meant by it. Again the pause - he seemed to do a lot of that with her around ... indecision from having no idea at all what was going on.

"Fine! I see no reason for you to stay - come and let me in, if you can bear to walk the few steps to your door with me!"

John hurried after her retreating back, throwing payment for their drinks onto the table on the way out - the large notes he had in his wallet being such that the tip far outweighed the charge - he called to the waitress that he'd be back for change later but she either didn't hear or was doing a good impersonation of someone not hearing.

He found, in his misery, that he was limping, so wasn't able to catch her up before she'd got to the building and rang the bell. Mrs Hudson reached the door before he could get his key out to let them both in. Mrs Hudson took one look at the young woman's face and glared at John threateningly - "Now what have you been saying to her? Getting her all worked up about nothing I expect" - she cuffed him as he passed, like a naughty school boy, as they came into the hall. By the time he got passed Mrs Hudson's stern looks, XXXX was half way up the stairs.

When John limped into the study Sherlock was looking as amused as he was capable of and she was breathing fire.

"You are being paid, though no one has yet made this specific to you, for your 'surveillance work' on us - myself and Dr Watson - though we can all deduce who it really is that they want watched or infiltrated." Sherlock said with his usual lack of tact to those lower in the pecking order.

"Why?" - "Who?" XXXX and John asked almost simultaneously. It was the first time she'd smiled since leaving the cafe earlier and John's heart ached.

"Surely all the average brain would be more preoccupied with the Who? question - only a 50% rate of the obvious answer was not predictable." Sherlock was looking at her with renewed interest, but obviously talking to himself and no one in the room specifically.

XXXX looked him right in the eye and said, "Surely that's obvious. But _why_ would Moriarty want to bribe or frame me specifically? I can't think what he would gain."

...

They'd carried on meeting for a couple of months on and off when something new happened - when a package arrived or she felt she was being watched on a couple of occasions - and sometimes he felt they were close and others that she was still mocking him for reasons unknown.

Once or twice Sherlock came with them, usually to a restaurant of his choice and she always dressed for these occasions, simply but well, so he tried to do the same on the next occasion. He went to some trouble to chose a favourite shirt and even put on a tie.

"Is that what you're wearing?" She asked casting an appraising eye over him.

So maybe he'd overdone it a little, "Well, yeah! ... "

"Sherlock! Have you got a shirt that the Doc can borrow?"

Sherlock gave her a withering look from the doorway. She grinned at him and then looked back at John with a critical eye. "Oh ok - definitely too gay. Wearing each others clothes ... what was I thinking!"

John was getting rather hot under the collar now. "We're not gay!" he mumbled, "and ... what's wrong with what I'm wearing? I'm wearing clothes, they keep me warm enough, it's all good. They're just clothes."

"You look as if your mother dressed you," she said. " ... A mother from another century ... one who's nervous about you to getting picked up by girls ... maybe the Norman Bates in you isn't ready for a relationship, Dr Watson. The jeans are good - do wonders for your bum ... but that shirt!"

"What's wrong with my shirt! It's a classic design, timeless ..." he pleaded.

"My dad never got to be old enough to get away with wearing that shirt! You need to either be a male model or be over 60 to wear something like that and look like you're meant to be wearing it and not in disguise ... as a retired policeman maybe ... Can't you get one of your homeless network to do a swop with him, Sherlock?"

"Couldn't pay them enough!" Sherlock quipped, knotting his scarf.

Oh ha, bloody ha, Sherlock!

Once when they were on their own and had been talking about nothing in particular she leant over the table and fixed him with her eyes, her head leaning on one hand - "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." It was John's turn to wince. Painfully mocking. He never saw it coming and never knew what it was he did to set off her off.

"Please don't" he whispered. She sat up straight and was immediately all business again as if nothing had happened.

One time when they were in the cafe together she left to 'powder her nose', as she put it, knocking her bag to the floor as she swept past. She was an odd combination of graceful ease and occasional clumsiness. In picking it up he inadvertently turned most of the contents onto the floor. As he was replacing everything he came across a mysterious object shaped like a large lipstick. It caught his eye as it was baby pink in colour and reminded him of the first case he had taken with Sherlock.

He removed the end to find, rather than a lipstick, an attachment to go into a computer. He was studying it when became aware that she had returned to the table and was standing watching him with an amused expression on her face.

"Memory stick? ... for downloading?" he asked.

"Something like that," her tone was definitely one of amusement as she sat down again, still watching him. He pressed a button marked +, whereupon it started to buzz quietly in his hand... "... take that to bed with me" ... her phrase and the buzzing was making him a little anxious and he pressed wildly at it again and the buzzing got louder ... "think of you..." he pressed it again in panic, being sure now what it was and it buzzed louder still ... "job done!"

She was laughing as she held out her hand and deftly switched it off, returned the cover and popped it back in her bag.

"My! Doesn't the good doctor go a lovely shape of puce! Serves you right for going through a lady's handbag!"

She obviously wasn't listening when he tried to explain what had really happened. He seemed to do a lot of that generally and disproportionately with her.

...

Then there was the second time she invited him to kiss her goodnight after an inconclusive briefing session with Sherlock and then left with a look of disgust when John hesitated momentarily - much to Sherlock's amusement. He could hear her saying something like: "Just as well, John and XXXX - sounds like a sex manuel for pre-teens" as she hurried off, leaving the door wide open.

When she'd been gone a moment and John was still standing in the middle of the room looking stunned, Sherlock started tapping his fingers furiously and said irritably, "Oh for goodness sake go after her!"

John glanced at his friend wondering why he was concerned, but Sherlock seemed to have moved onto studying some papers on the desk.

"I'd not have thought she was quite your type. Too emotional, not a rational bone ... " he started before Sherlock interrupted.

"Not for me - why must I be surrounded by infernal idiots! - and she's far from lacking in rationality - anyone else would have spent that money gleefully and made themselves beholden to whoever ... and the Who and Why question? ... she's not a complete idiot - just not a good judge when it comes to herself, which seems to be a highly contagious condition around here."

John tried to probe further but Sherlock had returned to his perusal of the papers and was lost in his own world of mystery solving. By the time he decided he would go after her she was long gone.

...

She invited him to her flat one afternoon. The text had been short, giving only the address and '_come now_', and her usual signature XX. He'd been slightly delayed but eventually managed to find a cab. When he arrived the front door was ajar, but he knocked anyway and waited a moment before coming in - she'd obviously left it open as she was expecting him.

He could hear her singing in another room - she had a clear strong voice and was belting out Ain't No Sunshine. He sat down on the sofa next to a small picnic hamper to listen and she was suddenly muffled as a door closed. And then he could hear a song from West Side Story, though the lyrics seemed a little different to him. He was sure she was singing something different to the Maria of the original. And then suddenly louder again as she opened a door and he distinctly heard his own name in place of Maria - _John Watson_, fitting the three syllables as well as the original. Then '_It's like I'm twelve years old_ - _why can't I ... _'

And then she walked into the room, rubbing her hair dry with a towel. If you've ever seen anyone, or a dog maybe, running and hitting a plate glass window that they didn't know was there, then that was how she looked now. She stopped dead in mid phrase and stared for a long moment.

"How did you get in ..." her voice was shaky.

"You left the door open for me ... I knocked ... you wouldn't have heard with your head in a towel ... came in ... just this second, came in ..." She eyed him with evident suspicion, though whether it was his being there or catching her lampooning him in song he couldn't be sure.

Her eyes got larger and she said, "I'd put the chain on the door this time too ... They'll be another one somewhere, where have they put it ... " Her eyes were darting around the room.

"They come _in_ to deliver them?" he was shocked, mostly as she didn't seem to be.

She looked up from her search, "And why do you think I've been finding it _troublesome_ exactly then? Not that spine-chilling finding a package on your doorstep - even the post man does that." She continued her sweep until her eyes fell on the hamper on the sofa next to him - "You didn't bring a picnic with you I take it?" she asked - a picnic hamper that would turn out to carry over a hundred thousand pounds in cash.

And then came another surprising question. "Why _are_ you here then?" And then it dawned on him that it hadn't been her who had texted him, though it had come from her mobile and that someone wanted him to know that her deliver man had access to her home.

...

It wasn't the first time since he'd been to her flat that he'd been walking in the early morning and found that he was nearly there, though he never called in on her without an appointment and she never invited him there. And then suddenly she came running towards him ... her face determined and running faster than for a morning jog.

"John run!" she reached him and grabbing his hand, span him around. "_Run!_"

"Why?"

"_Just run!_"

From a standing start he had no hope of keeping up with her, and she slowed slightly, still dragging him to go faster.

They ran across roads, round corners, dodging cars and people, until she dragged him around a sharp bend and into a dead end alley. He expected her to stop or turn around but she shouted, "Follow me, do as I do!" as she dropped his hand. He slowed slightly and she moved ahead running towards a heap of rubbish, bins, builders' boards, a skip - and he was amazed to see her speed up and, using all the heaps of rubbish, she swung herself up on a low roof grabbing hold of whatever was there.

"Come on John! I'll help you up!"

And the next thing he knew he was running too, each foot fall getting him higher, nearer to his goal, to stand beside her up there. He was conscious that she had grabbed his wrist and was helping him up. She was surprisingly strong for someone so slight and he glanced up to check it wasn't their pursuers who'd made it first. There was a moment of exhilaration as he felt alive with the danger and exertion and then he was up there next to her.

And then they were running once more, running and leaping from structure to structure - sometimes down a few steps, but quickly gaining height over the city. He'd lost any sense of where they were but noticed she never slowed and seemed to know where she was going or at least was quick enough to assess the layout just before they got there. And then she stopped. So suddenly that she put an arm out quickly to stop him running over the edge.

"John, do as I do - long run up - then leap - throw yourself across - fly if you have to - I'll catch you over the other side."

He took a look at the distant, slightly lower, rooftop that she was facing and wondered where she was going next - it couldn't be straight ahead as the gap was huge.

And then she backed the way they had come, adjusted her weight back and forth a couple of times on the balls of her feet and then sped towards the chasm in front of them. And then she was air born, her legs peddled and she landed fairly gracefully on her knees just on the edge of the roof opposite and was calling to him. "Long run up, John! Don't think, just do!"

And he did - backing up a little further than she had, he felt his footing and he was off and in the air before he could think. He landed a little insecurely and felt her grab him again. And then they were both tottering onto the roof and she was laughing with relief and he realised that the other voice laughing was his own. They were so close that he could see the sweat droplets on her eyelids and feel her breath on his face.

Have we shaken them?", he asked.

"_Who_?"

"Whoever was chasing us."

"_No one was chasing us, Doc_."

"Then why were we running across half the roofs in the city?"

"_Would you have attempted that leap if you didn't have to?_"

"Well no"

"_Well then!_"

She shrugged and then turned, bobbed down onto the tiles and flattened herself onto her stomach. It was reflex that make him do the same - army training quite possibly or the sudden hold she had on him. And then noticed that she was laughing again, and had moments before told him no one was following them anyway.

"This is how they got in, Doc! Look they've even left the key."

"Where are we? In where?"

"My roof of course - this is my skylight. Pablo designed this part and he was project managing the whole project while I was at lectures. Pablo Fernandez was the architect who worked on that new Business Complex they're building in Saudi Arabia that's been in the news recently - just after my flat was completed - we had a 'thing' before he got really popular - though I was never as much a fan of his design work as ... well ... Sold his girlfriend to the devil in exchange for blinding his rival ... Someone's a fan of Ira Levin ... He must have designed this to be openable from the outside ... " She'd been exploring with her hands while talking, seemingly more to herself than to him, and was quickly able to fold the sky light back to the roof. "But how on earth do they get down there?" She was leaning way too far over the sill for his comfort and he had to resist grabbing her and pulling her back. It seemed she was much more comfortable with heights than he was himself. He still had nightmares of his friend Sherlock plummeting down to certain death from a rooftop and had no wish to watch that again with her as the victim, one who wouldn't miraculously come back from the dead.

"So why didn't we get onto the roof from your balcony? Open door ... put up step ladder ... climb onto roof ... simple!" he said gazing over the side. "Surely that would have been easier?"

"And where's the fun in that, Doc? Anyway I needed to know if it was possible for them to access up here without being seen or heard and the police arriving before they could get in." ...

She was silent for a while feeling around the sill of the sky light. John was so used to letting Sherlock do his observations that he was naturally quiet too, despite having a thousand more questions - and then she looked pleased and said, "Ah, marks from a grappling hook on the sill. Must have been two of them. One to go down on the rope, the other to pull it back up and take it with them back the same way. Quite a leap the other way, it being uphill so to speak," she said admiringly. "And then they must have waited until I came in and was indisposed - shower usually - left the packet, exited leaving door open ..." She shivered.

"Phew, that's too much of a plunge for me," she admitted, moving away from the opening after one last look straight down - he looked himself this time and saw that the drop was three high ceilinged flights, her flat he remembered as having a mezzanine floor fitted or part of two of floors cut away, giving the height and natural light into the living area. "So you up to that leap back again?"

"No ... absolutely ... no!" he replied.

"Might have to stay up here a long time then," she'd turned onto her back with her hands nonchalantly behind her head like she was sunbathing, though it can't have been that comfortable on the roof tiles and there was no sun that day.

He was looking over the edge tentatively again when he next spoke - "Ok, that is definitely your balcony. Can't we just slide down and let ourselves in that way, the door's wide open - I can see it."

"Kill joy! I thought that you were having fun! ... Probably for the best, doubt we'd make it back without the adrenaline shot anyway." It was only later that it occurred to him that she must have left the balcony door open to get back down more easily. Now why hadn't she said that earlier ...

...


	4. Chapter 4: Stand Off

**Chapter 4: ****_Stand-off_**

The next few times they met she seemed a little vague and far away. He knew she'd been speaking with Sherlock as he'd heard Sherlock say her name and then finish the phone call abruptly and in a very different, more businesslike tone when John walked into the room. And then there were the texts several times daily that made Sherlock grin like a naughty schoolboy and delete the moment he'd read them, but not before John had once or twice spotted her name on the screen.

This went on for a few days, then one evening he was surprised to hear her voice talking to Sherlock when he returned home late one evening. He was tired and couldn't face another humiliation so he leant on the doorframe for a moment wondering what to do next.

She was speaking but he couldn't quite make out what she said at first and then he leant his head back on the door - "... you, it was always you, never anyone else. I've admired you as a person from the moment I read the blog and loved you as a man since the first time we met." Her voice sounded quite rational and calm - a clever way of addressing Sherlock in matters of emotion. He doubted her feelings would be returned in kind, given this was Sherlock - though his friend had been very preoccupied of late and he knew it wasn't over any cases they were working on, he'd seemed less than interested in some really promising developments in the Case of XXXX XXX XXXXXX.

He was paralysed on the spot for a moment but had slumped near enough to the door to catch a few phrases, her voice lighter now: "... no need to be jealous ... big heart ... plenty to go around ..." before he came to and left quickly down the stairs.

He walked until long after the streets had closed down for the night and was surprised when he realised it was first light, coming to when his phone bleeped announcing he'd received a text from her which gave the address of a warehouse in the East End and - NOW! He'd walked a long way from Baker Street and didn't want to call to see his friend, who'd likely been working late the previous night anyway, so he went straight there. It was slightly comforting to know she wasn't still there now, with Sherlock, in their rooms.

When John walked into the building, he could just make her out in the half light, sat in a chair, on the far side of the large warehouse, bolt upright, facing diagonally across the room, looking straight ahead of her, not directly at him. She jerked her head slightly behind and to her left. He could see someone in the shadows, someone holding a gun, someone who looked a lot like Jim Moriarty.

Moriarty stepped closer to her as John approached.

"Naughty, naughty, Dr Watson, no closer, I've a gun pointed right at her pretty head."

She didn't turn towards him as she started speaking, but he was used to her not speaking directly to him when a more important man was in the room. "Sherlock once said that you can hide a big lie amongst the truth, to make it more believable. I was receiving money as I said. The money I was getting was payment for services rendered - for any contact that I had with you - researching you on your blog, meeting up ... That's why it started at the same time as my reading your blog and increased after visiting Sherlock in his Ivory Tower - Sherlock was right about that but I knew that it was from Jim here, I didn't need to guess. The little girl act was to appeal to your chivalrous side and I believe that maybe some of that worked given how you sold the case to Mr Holmes and have treated me like a potential teenage suicide risk since ... It's easier to manipulate really good men." Her voice was steady and emotionless.

Moriarty looked amused at John's obvious discomfort at her confession. "She's lying and you know it. Ask yourself ... ask Sherlock when you next see him, he reads people better than you do, when it comes to the two of you anyway. He knows she's falling for you, Johnny Boy, she's never met me before - Sherlock will have deduced all that by now." Moriarty sneered. "Just a pawn in the game, set up to distract."

"Yes, speak to Sherlock - speak to him now John. Go find him and ask him right now!" The emotion had returned to her voice and she turned her head towards him slightly. She sounded rather desperate, more like a woman trying to warn him than one who despised him as she had at first.

Then Moriarty strode forwards and struck her hard across the side of her face with the butt of the gun but it didn't stop her from speaking, though she kept her eyes closed. John moved forward slightly and Moriarty lifted the gun barrel to her temple and laughed manically. John stopped where he was, fingering Sherlock's gun in his pocket.

"Why do you think he's keeping you talking and me alive so long? Go find Sherlock. He'll let me go once you've gone, there's no point or satisfaction in killing me. Small cog ... might still be useful. He'd have done it by now if he'd not wanted to keep you here for some reason. Then ask Sherlock and you'll know everything."

When he didn't move she groaned slightly.

"Stop being so noble - I'm a gangster's moll and really not worth it. And you being here is more dangerous for me - so win-win if you go. Jim leaves me alone, you get to save Sherlock, if I'm right ... do you even know where he is right now? I'll bet that Moriarty is keeping you here while he's having the Great Detective eliminated."

Moriarty had been doing a good impression of being menacing while she was talking but hadn't made much attempt at stopping her. Maybe she was right and he was satisfied that time was ticking away, however it was spent.

"Ah, but enough of these pleasantries - you could go, and hope that I don't put a quick bullet through her lovely brain, Dr Watson. How hard it is being good though and not taking a gamble with other people's lives no matter how worthless - I can't say that I ever suffer from that particular dilemma. I'll help you out a little though - she's cleverer than she looks and is spinning a lovely little yarn of untruths - one big lie hidden in the truth. I certainly set her up to consult the Great Detective as she calls our Sherlock, but she didn't know it and she's no moll of mine - you know I have no interest in women. I'd hoped that Sherlock would get involved in our little mystery and take his eye off the ball for moment and that his not so great sidekick would have both eyes on the lovely lady which would irritate our Sherlock and lose him his greatest support at the same time - he doesn't like you having pretty girlfriends, does he, John? And it has to be said that he does his best work with his faithful lapdog by his side. Win-win for me, with you distracted and Sherlock off his best game."

"He's stalling, John - _go_!" she hissed.

John slowly started backing out of the room. moving slowly to his right - he hadn't decided yet whether he would leave but the manoeuvre was designed to give him a moment to assess whether a quick shot in the right direction would do the trick and not endanger her. All he had was Sherlock's revolver which would not be accurate at that range and too risky. "I'll be back to make sure you're ok," he said to her to give the impression he really was leaving.

And then he heard the shot, before he realised what he was doing, he ran to her without considering that Moriarty was still there with a gun - but Moriarty was standing well back, his gun lowered to the floor. Moriarty had apparently shot her from a distance and not at close range as he'd feared. "It's not _necessarily_ fatal - shot her just right so it's a slow bleed out, fixable with immediate medical care, though maybe a reduced chance of ever being a mummy if I hit that right ovary. And who better than the very capable, most chivalrous Dr Watson. There are medical supplies over there - everything you need for simple, but slow surgery, rather painful though as I didn't _think_ to put in any anaesthetic - silly old me. I still have a gun and you know I don't care about anyone enough not to pull the trigger so give me your phone - and that gun that's in your pocket - unless you really are just pleased to see me - and don't try anything. Oh, and don't think about leaving before midday, I have the building covered as they say at the movies ... anyway, leave to raise help and the ambulance wouldn't get here in time without you by her side, sticking a finger in the hole to stop her bleeding to death ... "

She was clutching a growing red patch on her abdomen and was slumping over the chair. John slid his phone and Sherlock's gun across the floor and helped her to the ground, kneeling by her side to assess the damage. He'd seen men hit by shrapnel recover from much worse and his initial reaction was one of relief. He thought he saw Moriarty leaving from the corner of his eye, but was now focused on his work. Grabbing the medical box he checked through the limited supplies - enough for a quick fix to get her to a hospital later. Or maybe more if he were careful.

"Why didn't you go when I told you to?" she asked.

"Because you called me John," he grinned foolishly. "You're going to be fine, looks worse than it is, he's clever enough to keep you alive but make sure I can't leave you." The bleeding wasn't stopping though, so the bullet would have to come out there and then. He'd hoped that it might act as a plug, stopping the bleed until she could get medical attention in clinical conditions, but either Moriarty was a much better shot than ever he was or she had just been very unlucky.

"You only call me John when you're being really earnest," he continued, more to distract her from his investigation of the wound.

"Ah, the Importance of Being Ernest!" she said smiling.

She winced as he pressed on her abdomen and then when he stopped and looked concerned she said, "Don't look so worried, it doesn't hurt as much as love does," and closed her eyes.

"Don't speak, you'll lose more blood," he said while sterilising, as best he could, the few medical tools that Moriarty had left him. But at least talking would take her mind off the pain when he was easing out the bullet without any anaesthetic - a little - maybe. And then he looked at her face and saw she was close to blacking out and said, "Right talk to me, tell me anything ... Tell me about ... tell me about everyone you've ever loved."

"Well that's going to be a short conversation. I've loved a lot of people, as people, but there's only been one man I've ever fallen in love with."

"Ok, tell me about him, every little detail you can remember and focus on that, focus on him. Focus on his face if that helps."

She had her eyes open again and was watching him as he worked, which was rather nerve wracking given what he had to do. "He's got true integrity. I've never met anyone before that I can say that about, there's always been something that's been self-seeking or petty in other men - little things that shouldn't mount up to much but take the shine off anyway. He's brave, he's incredible at what he does, he's the most loyal friend - it's amazing what he'll do for anyone lucky enough to be his friend. He's incredibly gentle and kind and generous. He's got a generous ego, he's happy taking a back seat to let his friends shine. He's truly a beautiful person - and he doesn't know it. That's another rare thing, he has no idea of his worth ... or how sexy he is ... he has no idea what he does to me. He can turn me on from standing start and he has absolutely no idea."

She blacked out from the pain and John had to focus hard to keep going, concentrating on tissue, bone, artery, the tools before him. Just another medical procedure ... keep going ...

She came around again, her face ashen and covered in sweat from the effort not to scream.

He was getting a little comfort from knowing that she couldn't have been talking about Sherlock, not with that amount of humility, though now he had another rival. "Tell me about him, what's he like, anything, anything else," he coaxed.

"He cares about me and wants to protect me, but then he'd do as much for a dog. He talks to me sometimes like I'm twelve years old - that puts me in my place. Have you any idea what it's like to be in love with someone who treats you like you're a school girl?" She laughed and grimaced with the pain again.

"What you're doing to my insides now John. That's nothing to how much he can hurt me with just a look ... or sometimes when we're deep in conversation he suddenly looks a million miles away and I know he's thinking about someone else. Some woman who's hurt him ... "

She closed her eyes and began reciting from memory:

_"Though I've tried before to tell him_  
><em>Of the feelings I have for him in my heart<em>  
><em>Every time that I come near him<em>  
><em>I just lose my nerve<em>  
><em>As I've done from the start<em>  
><em>I resolve to call him up a thousand times a day<em>  
><em>And ask him if he'll marry me in some old fashioned way<em>  
><em>But my silent fears have gripped me<em>  
><em>Long before I reach the phone-"<em>

She paused and John prompted her, "Long before you reach the phone - go on."

_"The silence fears have gripped me,_  
><em>Must I always be alone?"<em> she finished.

Then there was a long pause where he was so intent on his work that he didn't notice how she was suffering until she let out the breath she'd been holding in a long groan.

"That's good ... concentrate on something good ... keep going ... poetry's good ... just keep reciting, any more poetry that you know."

"It's the Police."

"Thank God!" he looked up expectantly.

"Ooooh, please don't make me laugh ... it's a song ... song lyrics by the Police. Every little thing she does is magic, everything she do just turn me on, even though before my life was tragic, Now I know my love for her goes on ... Only it's a him for me, everything he does is magic ..."

"Oh! ... Right, song lyrics then ... just talk ... or tell me more about him ... tell me why you haven't told him how you feel. Surely it's better to take a chance then always wonder?" He'd found the bullet and needed more than ever for her to stay calm.

"It's fear of the end - the death of hope. I'm often on the edge of telling him and then something happens and I don't. And anyway, every time I've started to say something about how I feel for him, he looked so disgusted ... he knows what's coming and can't even stand to hear it ... "

"Any man as good you say he is - he's going to be proud that you care about him."

"Would you be? Would _you_ be proud if I said I was falling in love with you, John? ... " she swallowed and then opening her eyes said, "Because it's you, John, it's you ... and I'm going to miss you so much, I'm going to miss your '_here we go again_' face when Sherlock insults your friends or when he drags you into a dangerous situation or experiments on you. I'm even going to miss your '_my mummy shops for me_' clothes - I'm sure you could find a homeless person who'd swop with you if you paid them enough ... I'm going to miss you blush when I tease you. I'm going to miss everything about you so much ... even the pain ... "

"You're not dying" he murmured, returning to his work.

"Not dying, no, but the case is over, whatever Moriarty was using me for, he's done - we shan't be seeing each other again ... Sherlock arranged for us to spend so much time together to find out what Moriarty was up to ... maybe force his hand ... distraction manoeuvre. He didn't care how painful it was for me, if anything he seemed to be enjoying watching an experiment, trying to work out what would happen it you introduced extreme heartache to a girl and how much she could take before her heart shattered into a million pieces." She raised a hand as if to touch his face and then winced and lowered it again. "Kiss me goodbye, John, just this once ... please."

He leant down to her face and kissed her mouth tenderly but with some passion. She was smiling then. "But it's not goodbye - it's definitely not goodbye," he said as the bullet finally slipped out from where it was lodged by her hip bone and she finally blacked out. "And if you want me to prove it then you'll have to wait until I can take my hand off this bleed to kiss you again," he said to her unconscious body.

He'd sort out about her apparently loving both him and Sherlock later, first he had to pour neat alcohol on that wound and it wasn't going to be pretty ... he wondered if kissing her again would be enough of a distraction to prevent her from blacking out again ...


	5. Chapter 5: Resolution

Chapter 5: Resolution

It had been coincidence that Mrs Hudson and Lestrade had spoken to each other before each rushing to nearly identical 'emergencies'. If Mrs Hudson hadn't mentioned the nurse's slight foreign accent they might never have put together that they were both likely fake calls, by the same person, to get them out the way - neither the first cousin nor the aunt were on their death beds asking to speak to their 'favourite' relation, as they found from quick calls.

Lestrade was over at 221B within minutes and when there was no answer at Sherlock's door, though Mrs Hudson was sure that he hadn't left with the three foreign gentlemen earlier that day, he broke into the room without waiting for her to get the key.

Sherlock was incapacitated with a drug that left him completely paralysed. He was attached to a drip system through which his blood had been slowly oozing away for some time. It was only a matter of minutes before his heart would have gone into shock and he would have been impossible to revive. Lestrade cursed his lack of medical knowledge and how to stop the deadly flow and also cursed Dr Watson for good measure for not being there. By which time he'd looked up to find Mrs Hudson adjusting the drip the other way up so the blood flowed back into Sherlock's arm. The ambulance that she'd rung on her mobile while he was breaking down the door was there some moments later.

"I trained as a nurse you know, before Mr Hudson that was of course," she confided. "It's not the most hygienic conditions here and I expect they didn't sterile the area before putting that drip into his arm, but modern medicine will sort that out once he's in the hospital."

What they couldn't understand was how Dr Watson could know that Sherlock was being admitted to the hospital - Mrs Hudson had not been able to raise him on his own mobile. He looked rather shaken and was sitting in reception with his head in his hands when she first saw him through the doors, looking as if he was making a decision; looking first down the hospital corridor and then over to the door. He spoke quickly with the receptionist and then had turned to leave the hospital when he first spotted Mrs Hudson coming in.

Both parties were equally surprised to see each other but, when they each explained their stories Dr Watson looked relieved and asked her to tell Sherlock that he'd call by to see him later as he had someone to visit first. Sherlock needed blood transfusions, not anything more major. She smiled to think how put out he'd be that his friend didn't visit him immediately though.

...

"What I don't understand is why he didn't just shoot, or at least threaten to shoot me. Why just stall me? The man's a complete nut job, but you'd expect him do some things logically."

John and Sherlock were sitting in their study, feet up and drinks in their hands. A rare occurrence, but one that John had manoeuvred Sherlock into by asserting his superior knowledge of social norms. Sherlock didn't look too uncomfortable without a problem to solve, but it was only a matter time before he got significantly bored and started sniping at the others in the room.

Lestrade was stood by the window looking out over London at night talking softly to Molly and Mrs Hudson was fussing over whether everyone had had enough to eat, passing around a plate of nibbles around the other guests - mostly XXXX's friends. And she was lying on her back on the sofa, cradling a small glass of apple juice held in both hands over her solar plexus, her eyes closed. John was resisting the urge to walk over and kiss her - Sherlock hated public shows of affection, though he'd tolerated John's emotional exhibitionism when she'd first left hospital he knew that was as much as he'd get away with for a while.

"Maybe he's developed a soft spot for you," Sherlock quipped. John was impressed that his friend was attempting humour and not showing off with his deducted theories, it made him seem more human.

XXXX snorted so loudly from the sofa that she winced and groaned. John shot over to where she was lying and checked her dressings. "You'll burst your stitches like that!" he scolded her and shot Sherlock a furious look.

He'd not had the courage to address the matter of the menage a trois and understood her comments about the death of hope. But neither XXXX nor Sherlock seemed to be at all amorous towards each other since she'd come out of hospital the previous day so there had been no need - yet. He couldn't risk his friendship with Sherlock or his budding relationship with her though and something had to be said. He waited until all the guests had left before starting.

"I overheard what you said to Sherlock the day that it happened," he tried. It wasn't going to make much sense he knew, but it was a starting position to get their interest and in that he succeeded. XXXX propped her head up on her hand and looked right him, which made a nice change but didn't help his resolve.

"What?" said Sherlock in tones of sheer boredom.

It had to be now though, he took a deep breath and launched in, "That it's always been Sherlock that you loved," he was talking to XXXX but found that now he couldn't look at her directly. There was a pause, which seemed interminable to John, though likely a few seconds in total.

"I believe my exact words were - 'It's you, it was always you, never anyone else. I've admired you as a person from the moment I read your blog and loved you as a man since the first time we met.' Isn't that about right Sherlock? I'd worked on the wording for all of 20 seconds before delivering the lines. I believed I was going to my almost certain death, so I've recalled them fairly well I think. Sherlock was sure everything was about to kick off at any time, we just didn't think he'd take Sherlock out before I was taken and you safely out the way - didn't account for your midnight flit I'm afraid."

There was another long pause then Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.

"But there's two words that you missed that are all important, that go before all that lot - those are 'Tell John ... ' ", she said. And then John did kiss her, ignoring Sherlock's pained sighing ...

...


End file.
